Myth Weavers is pleased to announce the Dungeons & Dragons Create a Villain Contest! Members may create a villain using any edition of the Dungeons & Dragons rules, and the final entries will be voted on by the community.

First place wins a new copy of the Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition Players Handbook!

The contest runs from July 1 to July 31, and voting will then run from August 1 through August 7. The winner will be announced on August 8 and contacted via PM. Contest details and directions may be found HERE!

The upgrade was a success! Please let me know in Site Discussion if anything has gone awry!

This unfinished short story is intended to show a day in the life of a dwarf typical to the setting he lives in, not a hero. I'm looking for feedback about the general idea, and any thoughts on where it should go. I am aware that the writing itself could use some polishing, so no need to point that out.

If people could tell me what impression you get of Url and his world, that would be helpful, too. My intent is to communicate certain things, and I'd like to know if I'm being successful or not. Any bits spelled out so much they get in the way would also be nice to know.

Url stumped down the tube, splashing through the muck. It stank, but the cloth over his mouth and nose blocked most of it out and what was left was just something a body got used to down here. It was a small price, and in return he had food, a hole, clothes, access to tools and parts, and all the other perks his clutch had to offer. All he had to do was keep his stretch of the tube running properly. Just like everyone else on all the Tube Squads across all the clutches. He was a cog in a great machine, and proud of it.

Finally, he reached the place where the problem was only to find it was just a stupid clogged filter. One rubber gloved hand pulled a can out of a pocket on the side of his pants. There weren't any replacement filters available right now; the humans around these parts were busy hoarding the metal needed to make the screens. Stupid sunwalkers. It wasn't like they were going to magically find a new cache of it. Fortunately, the dwarves over in AQ24-C knew how to smelt the old filters down so new ones could be made, but they had to have old ones available to smelt in order to do that, and it was all first come first serve. ST13-A didn't have anyone in that neck of the sewers right now.

All that meant he had to do a half-assed job of cleaning the damned thing here and now instead of swapping it for a fresh one and taking back to clean it properly. He shook the can, listening to the ball bearings inside roil up the contents until he was sure the can would explode if he didn't use some of it. Pulling the filter out, he sprayed the stuff over it, causing the brownish muck covering the screen to harden enough so he could smack it against the side of the tube. Little bits of crap broke off as he whacked it once, then twice, then a third time.

He flicked at some of the bits that stayed stuck on with a finger, then inspected it for actual damage. One wire break wasn't enough to warrant hauling it out, keeping the tube offline while he fixed it, then bringing it back, so he just put the thing back in and made a mental note about the damage. It slid back into place without a problem and he stumped back out, metal boots clanking on the metal under the 'water'. After he did a routine check for leaks, he felt he was done for this waking cycle.

When he reached the hatch, he levered himself up and out, then shut it behind himself with a loud clang. He spun the locking wheel until he couldn't anymore, then pulled a wrench off his belt and tightened it another quarter turn. Before jumping down to the floor, he whacked the wheel once with the wrench as was his habit. Couldn't remember why he started doing that, he just did it. His boots dripped muck onto the stone floor, but it was already slick with humidity anyway. When he hopped down, the heavy, metal monstrosities didn't slip or slide. They were made for this environment.

Clomping down the hallway, he pulled his scarf down so he could breathe properly again and stopped at the valve switch. He checked the meters to make sure he didn't need to do a backflush before restoring his section of the tube. One was reading high, but it always stuck, so he tapped it, then nodded to himself when it returned to a normal reading. The lever took a little muscle to slam home, but it wasn't beyond his ability. If it had been, he'd have rigged it up with something to take care of that by now. When the sludge started to flow again, he could hear the difference, and he got a grim smile of satisfaction. Standing muck always sounded wrong, like failure.

It took him the better part of a half hour to get back home. His section of tube was one of the farthest out for his clutch, and sometimes he hiked over to ST13-B for a sleep cycle instead. Not tonight, though. Tonight, one of the younglings was being moved to her own hole, and that was a special time. All the clutch came together for that. He had a good gift for her, too; spent a month working on it. He had to admit he fancied her a little, with her smooth skin and the little quirk of her nose, and was hoping she'd pick him for her first romping, though there were younger dwarves to choose from. Ah, well. It didn't matter so much. So long as she has a good time, that's all that really mattered. Maybe Mita would be happy to console him. Or Kanee. Or Suli, with those hands. Heh, he couldn't say no whenever she asked.

In the clutch mudhall, the chamber just past the outer doors, he stepped out of his boots and left them there. Cark would clean them, that was his job. He'd also make sure the tread stayed sharp and check all the screws and plates to make sure everything was tight and right. Url didn't worry about anyone else doing their job, just like they didn't worry about him doing his. Also left behind here were his rubber gloves and his overcoat, a metal and leather piece that protected his arms and torso from the muck. His pants, too, also made of metal and leather and for the same reasons. Beyond the mudhall, everyone went barefoot, so he peeled off his socks when he reached the inner door. Those, though, would come along to be washed with the rest of his clothes. At this point, he wore tight fitting woolen pants and a shirt and nothing else, with his tool belt and bag slung over one shoulder. It wasn't the most comfortable fabric he'd ever felt, but it was good for the temperature, and they didn't have a lot of choices.

The tunnel beyond the inner door led to the main square, which had more tunnels branching off it. There were ninety-three dwarves in clutch ST13-A, with two on the way, and one elder dwarf so old his time would come soon. Like every clutchholding, theirs could support one hundred at most. They were lucky to be so close to their limit without going over. It meant all the jobs were getting done without anyone having to push too hard. He'd heard ST11-R was having a hard time – their numbers were below sixty now, after an accident, a bout with disease, and a wave of gremlins. Pretty soon, adventurers would probably start showing up to find out what was wrong over there, and they'd put the poor human saps to work to pick up some of the slack, then they'd act as runners to get messages out to the other nearby clutches, asking for transplants even though everyone already knew. No one would move until they asked. It just wasn't done.

There were other dwarves in the square, and since everyone knew everyone, Url waved to the ones who looked. Kiva had a baby on her arm, Father Brak cooed at him. Vatir fixed a loose stone in the wall. Krav walked through, probably on his way to pick up his clean clothes. Chal carted a keg of beer to where the celebration would be. Mita and Drel sat to one side, sewing something and chattering together.

He plodded on through, intent on his destination. Url's hole was average for the clutchholding. It wasn't terribly large, maybe 20 feet to a side or so, and carved out of the earth in a rough square about 6 feet tall. In one corner, a bed of air filled leather, big enough for two. In another, his privy and washing tub. There was a metal chest with his spare clothes inside, and he had two shelves where he kept his personal tools and a few knickknacks. On one shelf was his gift for Kesha, wrapped in a piece of cloth.

After peeling off his clothes and tossing them into his laundry bag, he splashed some water on his face and chest. He sniffed under his arms and decided to wash a little more thoroughly, but not a full bath. There would be romping tonight. No good reason to let his smell scare the women away, but he also didn't want to be bland. Using a washcloth, he mopped the dried sweat of his work off, then checked himself in his mirror. Like all dwarves, he had no hair to speak of, and his body was decently muscled, thick and capable. He'd seen humans and knew he was both shorter and broader than they were, as well as infinitely more attractive.

For this celebration, he put on his best clothes: cotton. He only had one pair of cotton pants, and they were the softest thing he owned. It was like wrapping a steam cloud around himself. He actually had two cotton shirts, but only one was dyed. That's the one he wanted for tonight. The red shirt. It was a bold, bright color, perfect for a party.

"...had a baby on her arm, Father Brak cooed at him..." grammar error, unless "Father" in this case implies a clergy title, in which case context needs some clearing.

Anyway, paints a brief window into things. Sounds somewhat futuristic with the implied material shortages. When you don't have material enough to produce filters, you know things are getting bad.

Seems like there's very little interaction between surface and underground. And this sewer-tunnel-cave-thing is a little confusing. I find myself wondering where they're going to find enough space to build an underground village lair for 100 people into dirt. Under a city. The implied sprawl of villages makes perfect sense if you can explain how they're built in the first place. It's a city- that's a LOT of tubes and pipes and underground whatevers to be found everywhere. Just... not a lot of room left for soil. Unless one builds under the underlayer of pipes... in which case we wonder how they don't flood.

And we have three "known" species here. Humans, dwarves, and gremlins. Interesting choices. Doesn't seem like you're doing fantasy mysticism, so I find myself wondering, is this earth, are dwarves a natural species wherever we're at, or was there some bio-engineering involved... and what are the gremlins, exactly. Considering they weren't even mythological creatures until... some time around World War 1... hmm...

Also, the dwarven culture... seems quite believable. And more than a little old-school-mining-community. Maybe a little irish inspired. If that's what you were going for, kudos.

It's intended as a job title, actually, not religious. Because they're not remotely monogamous, it's not usually clear who one's father is. They have a specific dwarf who's good at doing the whole father figure nurturing thing, and that's his job. I could change the title, I suppose, though I can't imagine anything that suits the job better.

That is a good point about where these clutchholdings actually manage to exist, I hadn't considered that so much. The entire surface world in one vast city that spans the entire single continent, and I suppose I was figuring they did at least enough planning so there's space for these little communes between the large pipes.

It's intended as a job title, actually, not religious. Because they're not remotely monogamous, it's not usually clear who one's father is. They have a specific dwarf who's good at doing the whole father figure nurturing thing, and that's his job. I could change the title, I suppose, though I can't imagine anything that suits the job better.

Proctor, perhaps? Maybe even steward or mentor if you want to bend the original intent of the words a little.

I have to admit, when I heard "dwarf" and "steampunk", this was not quite what I was expecting. It is, however, pretty good.
You do a good job of explaining the world, but it almost feels... over-explained. Because the story is told, or seems to be told, in third-person limited from Url's perspective, it does not make sense to provide explanations for everything, because the narration is, in some sense, Url's train of thought, and he will not think in detail about matters that are routine to him. Pausing to curse the humans for their hoarding does make sense, and even reflecting that it is lucky the dwarves in the other section can resmelt the filters is plausible, as is realizing that he does not remember why he has that odd habit of whacking the wheel with his wrench. Thinking about how there is a party tonight makes perfect sense. However, the detail on the clothing is excessive, to my way of thinking. He deals with these things pretty much every day of his life; he is probably not going to think about what they are made out of or why. How often do you pay attention to your clothes when changing more than the minimum necessary to do so? Maybe other people do it differently, but I usually space out while changing clothes and do not really pay attention to what I was wearing previously, since I already know.
To weigh in on the "Father" thing, Father seems like the best title for such a job. Maybe have Url muse that Brak is particularly good at this father-figure nurturing-type business and they are lucky to have someone like him? That kind of goes against what I said earlier, I know, but I cannot think of a better solution.

Now, my impression of the world is this:
It has a sense of a world slowly falling apart. A culture that experienced rapid technological advancement, then suddenly hit a plateau. Unable to advance, it stagnated and began a decline. The decline is still in its early stages, but already things are steadily worsening. The old technology cannot be kept in quite as good repair as it once was. Shortages are starting to appear. The flaws in the system and the problems with the most recent technology are surfacing. Things are still all right and people still go on with their lives, but in order to do so they are pretty much ignoring the fact that the current way cannot continue forever. Something has to change, and soon, or the slow decline will become rapid.
That was the impression I got.